I'll Be Your Brooklyn
by why-do-my-favorites-always-die
Summary: Steve and Bucky's first winter together after The Winter Soldier. Everything is going well, until the power goes out. Really short fluff fic


Snocap fic

It started with a snowball. A snowball that wasn't meant to be thrown across the living room from the kitchen.

It nailed Bucky in the face, exploding into a grainy slush on contact, forcing a surprised and painful "Agh!" from the overprotective but off-guard young man. "The hell, punk?" he asked, looking over at him. He wore his signature sideways smile, and his face reddened from the temperature change.

"Please," Steve smirked mischievously. "You fought in the wars too I thought you'd be game for a fight."

"You're such a loser," Bucky laughed. "I don't see anyone beating you up right now, so uh, it won't be much of a fight."

Steve pretended that had hurt. "If only I had some ice for that burn,"

"Seventy years worth wasn't enough?"

"Like you can talk."

"Whatever," Bucky dismissed, opening a window and balling the snow that gathered on the sill.

Steve watched him, debating whether to say something or not. "Hey Buck," he started, already knowing it would end well. "Move any more snow and you might find—"

Bucky's snowball hit his cheek before Steve could finish his sentence.

"Were you about to say my arm?!" Bucky exclaimed.

"What? No! No…" Steve trailed off with a guilty smile. "I'm sorry?"

"Not yet you aren't."

"Damn right,"

"Come here you still have snow in your hair," he said, picking out the bits of ice, and ruffling the snowflakes from his usually neat blond hair once Steve had walked over.

"You've got some hair in your hair," Steve muttered as he did the same to Bucky. "Haven't you gotten a haircut in seventy years?"

"I know," Bucky said in a deadpan tone. "They can take an arm but god forbid they take a couple split ends."

"This is horrible," Steve admitted, getting a look from Bucky. "Not your hair, these jokes." He added.

Bucky squeezed his shoulder and looked him in the eye. Very sincerely, he said, "Aw, Steve… you started it."

"What are we, ten?" Steve laughed, pushing his hand away. "Hey, and speaking of, I think I have things to make hot cocoa, if you want some."

Although it did sound childish, it was hard to pass up. Steve had the kettle on soon after. It had begun to snow again, lightly drifting down from pale grey clouds and off the trees and building tops. The wind whistled through the screens covering the bottom half of each window, telling in whispers how lucky they were to be in the warm room together. As if in response, the kettle whistled from the stovetop, steam puffing from the spout in an expanding cloud seen through the doorway.

"How much milk do you want in yours?" Steve asked over his shoulder as he crossed to prepare the drinks.

"Eh, half, I guess," he replied absently.

There was a judgmental pause unseen from beyond the threshold. "It'll be lukewarm at best," he said with a hint of warning in his tone.

"What can I say," Bucky sassed, "I'm not good with hot things in my mouth."

"I swear to god…" Steve muttered to himself as he walked back in with two mugs in his hands. He handed one to Bucky, still shaking his head. "I don't know what I was expecting."

Bucky made a prideful toast to himself and took a sip. He looked out the window pensively. "Hey, you know how much we're supposed to get?"

"You're not getting any with me, that's for sure."

"I meant _snow_, punk."

"I don't know, I'll put on the news,"

_I live alone. So when I slipped and fell in the kitchen last month—_

"What the hell is this," Bucky asked.

"A commercial for… life alert?" Steve replied.

_Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!_

"Looks like you could've benefited from it," He added with a bitter sarcasm.

"Fuck you, Steve."

_It's still coming down heavily in the East Coast area. Anyone in the regions of Brooklyn to Camden should prepare for 18-24 inches. Plows will begin their routes as soon as—_

The tv stuttered and the lights flickered as a gust of wind shook the house.

_-so residents should not be going outside this evening. Thanks Tom. In other news…_

"Well, I guess I'm staying here tonight." Bucky concluded, lying down in the couch. "It'll be just like the good ol' days, huh, Steve?"

"Sure, buck," he smiled. "couch is yours, you know where everything is."

Another strong wind seemed to shake the room. Steve frowned with his eyebrows knit close together.

"Hey," Bucky said, with soft concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Steve replied habitually. "I just... I had a date…" he looked up with an attempted smile. "Memories, you know?"

Bucky clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Can't say I do, cap."

Steve looked down at the floor and let out a regretful sigh "I'm sorry… I forgot that…" his voice died in his throat.

"Hey," Buck said with a pained smirk. "Same, right?" he moved over on the couch and kept looking at Steve. "Hey, c'mere."

Steve sat next to him and leaned his head on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky leaned his temple on Steve's part. "Listen, punk," he said softly. "I get it, okay? I get it. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want. I know."

"I can't pretend like it didn't happen."

"Course not we have a goddamned museum exhibit how much does that say about us."

Steve gave a scoff of laughter. "Yeah…" he muttered through a smile. "I'm just glad you're back."

"Me too, buddy." He smiled, then kissed his forehead.

Steve lifted his chin to return one to his cheek, then leaned his head on his chest. Bucky wrapped his arms around him. The two of them sat there for a long time, savouring each other's presence and warmth. Part of them was happy to finally be together, but they couldn't help but wonder if this was another ice-induced dream that would fade and be replaced until they really did wake up. Bucky's hand shook occasionally. Steve settled it by taking it with his.

They didn't have to say anything. They didn't consider the assurance of reality, they didn't need or want to.

Because in that moment the power had gone out.

"Damn it," Steve muttered to himself, looking to the ceiling and knowing he couldn't do anything about it. He stayed with Bucky on the couch, unmoving. The early set sun seemed to bring about a new depth of darkness to the room. "You don't happen to have a light on that metal arm of yours, do ya?"

He felt Bucky roll his eyes. "No," he answered shortly. "I don't."

Steve groaned and got up, feeling his way through the darkness. There were candles in a cabinet in the kitchen that he never had actually used. He pulled a box of matches from the corner and struck one.

Bucky stood up to help him look. One match at a time Steve dug around in the cabinets, working systematically through them with the light from the dim flame of the matches. There was a thump, followed by a string of cusses from the living room.

A moment of silence followed as Steve debated if he should say what he was thinking, until he finally said. "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up."

Bucky said nothing, but the sounds of him standing back up sounded pissed.

Steve was glad the darkness protected him from Bucky's glare.

"Just hand me some matches, punk," he said irritably, but a hint of a smirk was still there.

Steve gave him half from the box. "If you need the striking paper I can—"

Bucky struck one off his metal forearm.

"Okay," he concluded, with an amused smile.

"Sorry," Bucky agreed, "Thanks though."

When they had found the candles, they lit them and set them around the living room coffee table. They cast a warm orange glow around the room. The corners and crevices, still dark, made the room seem smaller and cozier than it had before.

They were both cuddling on the couch as soon as they were done. Bucky's head was in Steve's lap. Steve was playing with his hair, occasionally giving him little forehead kisses.

"What now," Bucky thought out loud. "What kinds of things do people usually do when the power goes out?"

Steve hummed, "I don't know. We could spar?"

"In the dark? With small fires around us? Don't think so."

"Alright then what do you want to do?"

Bucky thought for a moment. "Got any board games?"

"Maybe. I know there's a deck of cards by the tv."

"Yeah, that works," Bucky said through weird grunting noises as he tried to get up.

They sat on opposite ends of the coffee table and dealt their hands for blackjack, betting with whatever pocket change they had on them.

Bucky seemed to play naturally, rolling with the punches and the hands he got, while the gears in Steve's head turned to work out a strategy for a game the required little to no strategy.

Bucky won three dollars and ten cents, which was all Steve could bet with.

"Okay, one more round, all or nothing."

"Yeah, if you say so punk," Bucky laughed. "Keep overthinking it like that and you'll never win."

"Just deal the cards, jerk."

"Yeah, okay, if you say so." Bucky replied. "Won't do you much. We both know I'm gonna keep this."

"On va voir," Steve said with a tone of competition.

Bucky paused as he lay down the last card. "You know three ten won't get you anything these days right? Inflation is still a thing?"

"For the sake of the game, Buck," he explained. "All in healthy comepetition."

"Healthy," Bucky scoffed. "You talk about healthy like you weren't rejected from the army… how many times?"

"Aw, quit it. That's not the point."

"Alright, alright, just saying," he pushed two cards over to Steve.

Steve flipped them over immediately. "Nineteen."

Bucky hadn't even looked at his yet. "Easy there, I still got a shot."

"Alright, but play them open-face."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't trust me?"

"I _know_ you."

Bucky sucked his teeth. "That stings, Cap. That cuts deep." He flipped his cards over, revealing a fourteen. He thought for a second. "Here, take the deck and give me a hit."

Steve dealt him a three, than an ace.

Bucky thought for a long time, calculating the possibility of getting a three or lower.

"Any day now," Steve taunted.

Bucky looked at his hand. "…Hit."

Steve turned the next card over.

"Bust," they said, almost simultaneously.

"So, it's the comeback kid in the flesh." Bucky said, handing him the coins. "Underdog take II. You've got a knack for that, you know."

"Maybe it's just in my blood."

"No, what's in your blood is cholesterol and not enough of it."

"Not anymore," Steve shrugged. "That was part of underdog take I or whatever the hell you called it0."

Bucky just laughed and look at him softly.

"What?" Steve asked, smiling, though he wasn't sure at what.

"You're just cute is all." Bucky answered, ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, you too, Buck," Steve smiled. "Hey do you know the time?"

"Probably around nine? Can't tell for sure."

"Damn, I'm already getting tired."

"Geezer," Bucky said through a faked cough.

"Shut up," Steve smirked.

"I didn't say anything," Bucky replied innocently.

Steve stifled a yawn. "You got the couch?"

"You do too," Bucky answered a little too quickly. "Er, I mean, if you want."

Steve smiled and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Buck, sure."

They cleaned up the cards and lay down non the couch. Steve hugged around Bucky's ribs, resting his cheek on the top of his head. Bucky pressed into Steve, leaning his head on Steve arm.

The candles' warm glow got dimmer as they burnt down. Wind and ice pounded against the wall outside, but the flashbacks subsided. Neither of them had ever felt safer.


End file.
